American Pride

Apparently there was a big meltdown of software in Europe and all the flights were canceled and something bad happened on a runway in Italy and a flight in Chicago sat on the tarmac for three hours with no A/C and a child almost died.

Which, you know, is not good news. And it seems like the airlines get it wrong more often than they get it right. But I just wanted to say, sometimes American Airlines does get it absolutely right.

Ferexample: I was about 20, I was on this trip to Europe. Things had not gone well. Among other things, I had a head injury, and was still walking around, drinking and sleeping and not seeking medical treatment, like a fool. (I repeat, I was about 20.)

 My bipolar disorder was also just about ready to get out of the shed and haul ass at 95 mph over icy lakes and distant fields without a plan or a helmet. And I was on a trip with a friend of mine, and we were fighting, and Stuart Adamson kissed me, and I spent way too much time on trains.

(Yes, this is the same trip where I got arrested in Sweden. But that’s another story.)

I got off the plane from Sweden and I was in Atlanta and I had no idea what to do next. I went to the airline check-in desk and told them what was up. I wasn’t sure there was even any provision for somebody flying back several days early to the wrong airport. The clerk seemed a little perplexed, too. But after getting on her phone and talking to three or four people, she said, “Well, I can’t get you all the way to Phoenix, but if you don’t want to stay here tonight there’s a flight leaving to Tulsa in half an hour, and from there you should be able to get at least as far as Minneapolis.”

Minneapolis = closer to Phoenix than Atlanta, so I was in. I waited about five hours in Tulsa and got on the next plane to Minneapolis. I did not have very much money. I was trying to figure out if I could afford one of the cheap burgers at the airport restaurant (no McDonald’s in terminals back then) without breaking the $20 I was saving for a cab when the lady at the check-in desk asked me how long I’d been awake and had I had anything to eat recently. I didn’t know, and no. She gave me a couple of food coupons and a blanket for the flight.

I was in a middle seat on the flight out of Tulsa. I was in a middle seat just about the whole way, and it’s a good thing I was smaller then, but not that much smaller, and it’s a good thing the seats were bigger then, but not that much bigger. Anyway, the guy in the window seat said, “You look really tired. How long have you been flying?” (I think it was only about 48 hours at that point. And miles to go before I slept.) “Look, let’s switch seats so you can get some sleep.”

Reader, I kid you not. This guy, a fiftyish Hispanic banker looking type, swapped his window seat for my middle. I fell asleep before takeoff and didn’t wake up until we touched down in Minneapolis. Alas, I did not get his name. He deserved a bouquet of flowers. Not that I had money for flowers.

I got off the plane in Minneapolis and they steered me onto a flight to Denver. Denver = closer to Phoenix than Minneapolis. The clerk in Denver gave me more food coupons and got me on a flight to Salt Lake City. Salt Lake City = closer to Phoenix than Denver.

We got to Salt Lake City a little before 9 pm. There was only one more flight out just after eleven and it went to Las Vegas. The flight was completely full and all they could say was that they’d try to get me on it. Manic, headachey me who wasn’t acting rational in any case burst into tears. 

I’m sorry, but have you people ever SEEN the Salt Lake City airport? It could easily be the last straw for anybody, regardless of their mental condition. It’s the blue and orange paneling. No sane designer, even at the height of the 1970s, would erect blue and orange paneling and just leave it there for thirty years. There are laws against this sort of thing. It’s cruel and unusual decor.

The clerk was, I think, kind of appalled. Crying in the airport is a faux pas, apparently. After she shooed me away, I think she went back into the employee break room and worked some airline voodoo. Clearly sacrifices were made and blood was spilled because I got the last middle seat on the last flight out of Salt Lake City. 

I landed in Las Vegas at three in the morning and said to myself, “Self,” I said, “I can handle this. Flashing lights and tinkly noises. No blue and orange paneling. This is okay. This will work.”

From there I got on the first flight to Phoenix from Las Vegas. Phoenix = closer to Phoenix than Las Vegas. We touched down at seven a.m. and I was home. I’d made it. I was still alive and I needed a shower and I really needed some mood stabilizers (though I didn’t know that yet) and I was in Phoenix. I was so tired I gave the cabby my last $20 and didn’t wait for my $12 change.

Anyway.

Horror stories about airlines happen. If they happen more often than they used to, it’s probably because we have more flying public, a greater profit motive, and more incentive for things to go wrong. But that particular three-day period in 1990, American Airlines and pretty much the whole rest of the universe took care of me. I landed safely with a full stomach and a major concussion. 

I mean, it was a fun summer, what with the memory loss and the bipolar disorder and the brain going 90 mph and the inability to focus and starting the process of breaking up with my one boyfriend (he clung to me like a barnacle to a ship, in one instance literally; I was going 30 mph before he finally let go of the car).

But. Before all that, the window seat and the blanket out of Tulsa.

If you guys have a story about how somebody did you a favor when you really needed one, gave you a break, hired you for a job, or went out of their way to make your life a little bit easier, I implore you to tell people. Any people. Lots of people. Because we need stories like this. Life and social media are full of horror stories and if we’re not careful, we’ll start believing that that’s all there is. And if you owe a thank you to a person or an airline or even some faceless corporate drone that did you a solid, it’s not too late. Send flowers. Or a small gift. Or even just a nice card.